


Lost

by odinswhiteraven



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Other, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-17 06:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19948267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odinswhiteraven/pseuds/odinswhiteraven
Summary: Bellamy and Murphy try helping a lost kid.Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I do not own the 100. It belongs to Kass Morgan and the producers at the CW. I also do not own the chapter song that is advertised.





	Lost

**Author's Note:**

> "Ave Maria" by Celine Dion

“I’m lost.” A quiet voice called out. Bellamy felt something softly tug on his kutte. He’d just finished lighting his cigarette and looked to the right of him. He didn’t see anyone close to his height; then he looked down.

It was a girl. She had black hair. It was tied into two short knots on either side of her small head. She’d looked like Princess Leia or what Princess Leia would’ve looked like if she were an elementary school kid.

Which this wee child clearly was, wearing a colorful, over-sized Gravity Falls shirt that reached to her knees.

“You’re not lost.” Murphy remarked from close by; he’d taken a deep drag of his own cigarette and blew. He thought it was Bellamy who said that: “We took the second northwest exit.” He clucked: “Everything's okay.”

They were just passing through, on their way to a clubhouse up in Oregon. They were both patched in as part of the Skyripper club. Both of their motorcycles were parked near the edge of an expo at a local pier.

That was probably where the little girl came from. Her parents were probably there looking all over for her. “A kid.” Bellamy immediately put out his cigarette, twisting it into the sole of his boot. “Lose the cig.”

“What?” Murphy stretched his neck to see what was really going on. “Shit.” His eyes widened: “It IS a kid.”

Bellamy grabbed the cigarette that was sticking out of Murphy’s mouth and threw it far away from them.

“What the f-” Murphy caught himself before he cursed, especially when he saw the murder on Bell’s face.

The girl reminded him of Octavia. She had been that same height when she herself was younger. The man felt something tug at his heart violently. They hadn’t spoken in years. He didn’t even know where she was now.

“Where’s your Mom?” Bellamy asked quietly. He looked at the tattoos that emblazoned both his biceps. Muscled, like rocks underneath a blanket. Bellamy tried covering them with his hands, feeling ashamed. He knelt down to her: “Where’s your Dad?”

“I don’t have a Dad.” The young girl whispered; her green eyes widened at him: “And she’s not my Mom.”

“Sounds like my childhood.” Murphy muttered. He looked at his hands and rubbed them, as if trying to get any signs of dirt off of his skin. The chocolate-haired man ruffled his hair: “Did you come from over there?”

He was referring to the carnival happening at the pier. With all the bright, different-colored lights, the sounds of screaming and cheering, happily of course, and the smell of deep-fried goodness from the stalls.

The small, little girl nodded. She gripped at the bottom of her shirt, so that both of her knuckles whitened.

There were crowds upon crowds of people coming from and going to that place: “Everyone and their mother.” Murphy spat at the asphalt. “Are over there.” He turned to Bell: “Like finding a needle in a stack of needles.”

Bellamy scowled at Murphy when he said that. So Murphy raised his hands up high and shrugged at him.

“There’s security guards.” Bellamy re-assured the girl. “They’ll help you find her.” He pointed over there.

The black-haired girl shook her head fearfully. She didn’t seem to want to go. It was Bellamy’s turn to ruffle his messy, black hair. It must’ve looked the same as hers. Maybe that was why she came to tell him.

“There’s no reason to be afraid.” Bellamy told the girl softly. “Walk over there and ask the front guard.”

She shook her head again. The girl shuffled her way over to Bellamy’s bike. It had a three-headed dog decal all over the side of its black chrome frame. Cerberus. The man had an appreciation for Greek mythology.

The girl moved in between Bellamy and Murphy. She leaned against his bike. Murphy winced, inching away as if she were some biological weapon. Or an elaborately hidden IED back from his Afghanistan days. Bellamy shared those days with him.

Both men served in the same platoon. They were the only ones left from the primary roster. The originals.

All of their friends died a long time ago and Bellamy and Murphy still thought about all of them. Every day.

She rubbed both her arms through her shirt and kept her head down. Her face down. Then she trembled.

“Uh-oh.” Murphy warned. “It’s coming around.” Now he started backing away even further from this girl.

Bellamy reached out his sleeve-tattooed forearm to steady her. But he hesitated. He looked like a criminal.

And she deserved someone better to comfort her. Someone intact. Good and kind. He wasn’t any of that.

“She’s gonna blow.” Murphy shook his head, turning to Bell: “I’m telling you.” He said: “She’s gonna blow.”

The girl let out a sniffle. They couldn’t see her eyes. Her bangs got in the way. And then let out a soft sob.

“Hey.” Bellamy let out in a rush. “Don’t do that.” The man tapped her shoulder ever gently. “Please don’t.”

A wail escaped her mouth. Short and jagged like a thorn. And then an even longer one, even shriller one.

“Whelp.” Murphy threw his hands up. “Would you look at that?” He rolled his eyes at Bell: “I’m a psychic.”

“Shut up, Murphy.” Bellamy said through gritted teeth. He tucked a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear. “What’s your name?” He said in a loud whisper because she was that loud herself: “Your name?”

The black-haired girl looked up at him. Her nose was runny. She had pale skin. His was tan. Nothing alike.

She kept on crying. Gasping every now and then. Trying to hyperventilate between sobs, she kept crying.

He was terrible with children. He was terrible with Octavia. His sister was never given a chance to be a kid. He should’ve fought harder for her. For her to be one. He should've tried harder to protect her. She'd been his responsibility.

A kid. Just like this one here. Bellamy should’ve taken better care of her. He knew that now. But he hadn’t.

Murphy tried emptying his pockets. There were coins. A switchblade knife. A zippo lighter. A brass knuckle.

They jingled onto the asphalt around them. Then Murphy realized what he was doing and cursed out loud.

"Fuck."

He took off his kutte, the one with the clouds parting, making way for a bloody knife insignia. He threw it over the weapons and his crumpled package of cigarettes. Hiding them all from her sight. Murphy cursed again.

"Fuck."

Bellamy pulled out a wad of bills and threw them at Murphy’s feet. Murphy grabbed them and went to find something to give her. Anything to make her stop crying. He sprinted like a maniac towards a nearby ice cream stand. There was an enormous line. His "shit" echoed from afar.

The girl kept on sobbing; she alternated between rubbing her arms and squinting tears, her face was red.

He noticed the freckles then. Bellamy couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed sooner. He had freckles as well.

They dotted his cheeks and shoulders, along the bridge of his nose. She had the same facial ones as him.

All over her face. Some were large, some were small. Some meshed into light brown splotches, like paint.

“I thought I was the only one.” Bellamy chuckled. He pointed his finger all over his face. “Who had these.”

The girl’s eyebrows narrowed. Her bloodshot, green eyes squinted at him. Thick tears ran down her face.

“W-w-what?” She stammered. Bellamy smiled. Of course she’d stutter. It’d made her even more adorable.

“Freckles.” He grinned at her. “That already fixes everything.” Bell tapped his face. “Don’t you know that?”

“H-h-how?” The girl stuttered. She touched at her own face. Her cheeks, the bridge of her nose. “W-why?”

“Every single freckle you have.” Bellamy mimicked her, touching all the same places of his face: “Is a life.”

He’d slid his fingers alongside his neck where there were more of them: “A life that you’ve already lived.”

“No, it isn't” The girl protested. She bit her lower lip and looked down. “You’re lying to me. I know you are.”

“Lying?” Bellamy frowned. “I’ll have you know I used to be an astronaut.” He bragged: “Before that I was a fireman.” The man stuck out his fingers, one for every lie he’d made: “One time, I was a brave explorer.”

“Explorer?”

“Yeah, I traveled all over.”

"The world?"

"The world."

“Like where?”

“Idaho.”

“That’s in America.”

“It is.”

“I thought you said ‘all over’ the world.”

“America is part of ‘all over’ the world.”

“Barely.”

"Okay. Ms. Sassy-Pants."

"Hey!"

“I think you ought to know. I’m living my best life now.”

“Is it because you have tattoos?” The girl pointed at a serpent wrapped around his wrist. “Like that one?”

“Not really.” He muttered, covering that up with his hand. “I’m riding my motorcycle. With my best friend.”

“This one?” The girl asked, pointing at Murphy’s. His bike had a winged woman in a bikini, a sexy Valkyrie.

“No.” Bellamy hurriedly moved in front of that one, crossing his arms. “The other one.” He coughed aloud.

The girl chewed her lower lip. The best thing about this was that she wasn’t crying as much as before.

“Do you know what that means?” Bellamy asked. The girl shook her head. She sniffled, it looked like she was stopping. “It means we’re the wisest of them all.” He smiled and then saluted to her as a fellow freckled person.

“I’ve never heard that before.” The girl said quietly. She rubbed at her cheeks and both her eyes. “Never.”

“It’s a secret.” Bellamy murmured: “Shhh.” He placed a finger to his mouth, shushing: “Don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t.” She shook her head and sniveled some more. She finally stopped: “Does that mean I’m smart?”

“The smartest kid around.” Bellamy nodded with appreciation. “Why else would you watch Gravity Falls?”

“Mabel is my favorite.” The girl smiled, pointing to the brace-faced girl on her shirt. “Clarke’s is Wendy.”

“Who’s Clarke?” Bellamy asked, taking out his red bandana, the one in his back-jean pocket: “Your Mom?”

He'd given it to her. She used it to wipe her nose. When she tried to give it back, he'd waved his hand as if to say: forget about it. She tentatively clutched it. Keeping it with her.

“I told you she’s not my Mom.” The girl kicked a pebble. She looked down and muttered: “I’m adopted.”

“Oh.” He did not know that. And he did not need to know that about her. But now that he did: “So am I.”

Her eyes widened and shot back up towards him. The girl was looking at him now, really looking at him. At his messy, black hair. Same color as hers. At all of the tattoos sticking out of his navy shirt, under his jet-black, leather kutte.

“I had to leave my sister.” Bellamy admitted to her. He didn’t know why he was saying this. “But so am I.”

“Where’s your sister?” The girl asked him. He didn’t know how to answer that. So he did what he did best.

He lied: “Heaven.” She wasn’t. Octavia was alive and well. He knew that because she found him a few months back and told him she’d hated him. She was grown up. So much bigger than how he remembered.

But there was an engagement ring on her finger and a man waiting in the car outside the rundown house he shared with Murphy. The man had looked tan, just like him. But he was bigger. Balder. Better than him.

And that was it. That was the last time he’d seen, heard her. He left her behind, and she returned the favor. “So are my parents.” The girl whispered to him. There was silence between them. Longer than ever.

Bellamy looked at her. She looked at him. If there was ever a moment in his life when someone understood him, really understood him. It was now. Funny that it was a goddamn kid. Of all life’s jokes. This one was by far the most bitter.

“Madi.” The girl told Bellamy. She’d walked in front of him and pointed at her chest. “My name is Madi.”

“That’s a nice name.” Bellamy told Madi. He looked towards the expo in the distance. “My name is Bell.”

"Bell?"

"Yup."

"Like the Liberty Bell?"

"The very same one."

"That's nice."

"I think so too. Want me to help?"

“Help?”

“Help you?”

“How?”

“I can walk you to a security guard.”

“What will that do?”

“He’ll call his buddies. They’re probably all over that fair.”

“And then what?”

“They’ll find Clarke.”

“Oh.”

“That sound good?”

"I guess."

"She must be worried sick about you."

"She gets like that."

"Then it's settled."

“Will you hold my hand?”

“What?”

“My hand. Can you hold it when we walk?”

Bellamy didn't really want to. But Madi was chewing on her lower lip, looking up at him. She'd shifted nervously. If it would put her at ease. Then maybe he ought to do that.

“Sure, kid.”

“My name is Madi.”

“Madi. Sorry. Sure, Madi.”

“I got butterscotch!” Murphy made his way back to them. “They were all out of chocolate, vanilla, even strawberry.” He was gasping, panting for air. It looked like he ran a marathon. “You think it’ll be good enough?”

He’d gotten two scoops. One of the spheres fell off the cone and onto the ground. Murphy mouthed 'fuck'.

Bellamy and Madi stared at him. Murphy looked back at them, switching from Bell to her and back to Bell.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The chocolate-haired outlaw covered his eyes. “I waited in that damn line.”

“Thank you.” Madi tucked Bell's red bandanna into her pocket. Then she took the ice cream cone out of his hand and squeezed the same hand. Murphy flinched.

“How’d you get her to stop?” His best friend wheezed.

Bellamy shrugged back. “I’m taking her to security. Ok?”

Murphy waved them away. He fell atop his Skyripper kutte, the one covering all of the things he took out.

Madi gently held Bellamy’s hand.

Bellamy started leading her back.

Back to the expo on the pier and the good times that were still to be had. Back to where she’d belonged.

With a woman named Clarke, whoever she was. She was lucky. This kid sure was something. He just knew.


End file.
